Enemies c-15

by Keith Douglass

  The chief looked over at him, then up at the clock. “Can I get you some more coffee, Admiral?”

  Tombstone shook his head. “No thanks, Chief. I’m fine.”

  The chief stood. “Well, let me see what’s keeping him, sir. He’s usually not this far behind schedule.” The chief slipped quietly into the inner office, shutting the door firmly behind him. Moments later, he reappeared. “Admiral, the CNO is ready for you now, sir.” He held the door open and stepped to one side.

  Tombstone stood, relieved to be moving again. Maybe there were alert-five stretches of time in every job, not just in the squadron. If so, the admiral version of it was at least air-conditioned. He walked past the chief into the CNO’s office.

  “Matthew.” The chief of naval operations stood and came around from behind his desk to greet him. He held out his hand, and clasped Tombstone’s in both of his. “It’s good to see you again, Stony. Sorry you had to wait — a little crisis over in the Med.”

  “Good to see you again too, sir.” Tombstone shook the man’s hand warmly. The term of respect came automatically to his lips. Admiral Thomas Magruder might be his uncle, brother to Tombstone’s father, but he was still the chief of naval operations. They had worked out their own ways over the years of knowing when they were interacting as family and when they wore their hats as senior officers in the service they both loved. It had become increasingly difficult as Tombstone had become more senior, and their relationship had been stretched almost to the breaking point a year ago when Tombstone had decided to find out what had really happened to his father. His uncle, by then the CNO, had been firmly opposed to the mission. It had been his brother, he argued, and the family connection between the two of them was just as strong as it was between father and son. His brother was dead, had died years ago on a mission over Vietnam.

  But when Tombstone uncovered evidence that his father had indeed survived the ejection and had been taken as a prisoner of war, his uncle had been surprised. Then later, when a chain of events proved that father and brother Magruder had been taken from Vietnam to Russia for further interrogation, Uncle Thomas had come over to his side completely. It had been difficult for both of them, realizing that their government had not only lied to the civilian population at large, but to its most trusted senior officers as well.

  “Have a seat, Stony,” the CNO said, pointing to the couch. “I’ve got a problem — two problems actually — and you may be the solution to both.”

  Tombstone sat down and waited. He was getting mixed signals from his uncle. Usually you could tell immediately whether Uncle Thomas wanted to talk about family or Navy. The use of his nickname and his tone of voice were key indicators.

  This time, he couldn’t decide. Uncle Thomas… or was he the CNO right now?… looked grave. He sat in a chair facing Tombstone on the couch, apparently struggling with how to begin. Finally, he said, “Oh, hell. I never was any good at being tactful with you, Tombstone. So I’ll just say it.” He took a deep breath. “Your mission to Vietnam — it’s causing problems.” He held up one hand to forestall comment. “I know, I know. You would do it all again if you had to. And just the same way, I imagine. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences to it, Stony. Big consequences.”

  “I knew that when I went after him, sir,” Tombstone said. “But the government lied to us — lied to you and me.” He shook his head, remembering how he had to go through an underground network of POW families to find the first clues. “If they just told us what they knew, told the families the truth, it would have been over a lot faster.”

  The senior Magruder nodded. “No argument from me on that. But the fact remains that you have embarrassed a number of high-ranking people in the Navy by proving that your father was taken to Russia. I don’t have to tell you that it doesn’t matter how right you were about it. It should, but it doesn’t.”

  Tombstone shrugged. “I’ll be as blunt as you are, Uncle. This isn’t news. So what’s your point?”

  “It has to do with your next assignment, Stony,” his uncle said. “At one time, there was some talk that you might be in line for my job.” He made a gesture, encompassing his office, the vast spaces beyond, and whole Pentagon. “I don’t think you would have liked it, but now it’s pretty clear you won’t have a chance to find out.” He paused for a moment, giving Tombstone time to absorb it. “So the question is, what do we do with you now?”

  “I’ll stay on active duty as long as they let me, Uncle,” Tombstone said immediately. “Unless I’m grounded.” He held his breath for a moment, hoping that was not the case. But they couldn’t simply yank his flight qualifications without his knowing about it. And he’d have heard long before through the rumor mill, even before any official notification. Besides, there’d have to be a naval flight board of some sort. No, they couldn’t do that.

  Or could they? The rules might contain some loophole exception for an admiral who’d stepped too far out of line.

  “I’m not, am I? Grounded, I mean?” Tombstone asked.

  His uncle shook his head. “Not as far as I know. No, it’s not about flying. I wish to hell it were.”

  “Then what?” Tombstone asked. As long as he could fly, anything else would be bearable.

  “Since you’re not headed for CNO, there are some that think that the available operational three-star billets should be reserved for those who are. As much as I hate to say it, that makes sense to me, too,” his uncle said. “We have too many admirals and too few billets.”

  Tombstone was aghast. “They’re not going to make me retire, are they?” He felt a strange sensation of fear combined with relief at the thought. What would it be like to be a civilian? He couldn’t remember — it had been too many years, since the time he was eighteen. After high school, he’d entered the Naval Academy, and ever since then had been on active duty. At the same time, he felt strangely curious about what it would be like to be a civilian.

  And what would Tomboy think? His wife, now Commander Joyce Magruder, was commanding officer of VF-95. Of course he would not expect her to retire if he did. No, that wouldn’t be fair at all. He’d had his shot at it, and now it was her turn.

  “I’m one of the ones that thinks there’s still a place for you in the Navy,” his uncle said. “Tombstone, the places you’ve been, the conflicts you’ve seen — I’m willing to bet that you’ve had more actual combat time than any other admiral in the navy. Myself included. I’ve spent too many years flying a desk.”

  “Somebody had to do it. I’d rather have been there than here.”

  His uncle made an impatient gesture. “I know, I know. Still, there are times I wish that it could have been different. For both of us. Maybe I should have encouraged you to spend more time in DC, build up a power base. If you had more friends here, it might lessen the impact of this whole mess.”

  Tombstone didn’t know what to say. Privately, he knew he would never have survived his uncle’s career path. Sure, there were plenty of officers who did, including his oldest friend. Batman — Admiral Everette Wayne now — had seen his share of combat, but had also spent the required tours at the Pentagon. If anyone was headed for the CNO job, it was Batman.

  “What would you think about coming onboard my staff as a troubleshooter?” his uncle asked. “And I don’t mean administrative matters — I mean actual conflict.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His uncle smiled. “You’re a great straight man, Stony. That brings me directly to my second problem. Are you following what’s happening in Greece and Macedonia?”

  Tombstone nodded. “Mostly through CNN, but I’ve seen some of the classified traffic as well. The Republic of Macedonia may be independent, but Greece isn’t acknowledging the fact. Not as long as they’ve got the word Macedonia in the name. I know they’re worried about Greek Macedonia and the coast, too. From what I heard, it sounds like it’s getting bloody.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Two hours ago, the Greeks knocked a
news helicopter out of the sky.”

  “They shot it? Was it ACN?” Tombstone asked. His mind started racing to the inevitable possibility.

  His uncle met his eyes. “No missiles. Evidently some Greek Tomcat pilot caught them in a jet wash. But you’re right about the rest of it. It was ACN. Pamela Drake was onboard.”

  Tombstone was stunned. Was it possible, after all these years? The seemingly invincible Pamela Drake, killed in a helicopter crash? It was, he thought, the way she would have wanted to go. On the trail of a hot story, in the middle of the action. Although Pamela had grown older gracefully, he suspected that she never would have been really comfortable as she aged. Her industry was peculiarly brutal to women, and he suspected Pamela Drake would be no exception.

  “Is there any word on survivors?” he asked quietly, already offering up a private prayer for Pamela Drake’s soul.

  His uncle shook his head. “Rescue efforts are under way, but it looks like they went down in a pretty rocky area. I have to say, Stony, I don’t think there’s much hope she survived. There have been no emergency beacons, nothing like that.”

  Tombstone let out a long, slow breath, one that felt like he’d been holding for years. “I appreciate your telling me yourself, Uncle. You could have let me hear it on the news.”

  His uncle made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t start thinking I’m getting soft, nephew.” He leaned forward, now evidently at the heart of the issue. “We’ve got problems in Greece, big problems. You know what happens when a member of the news media gets killed. Every other one jumps into the feeding frenzy, and a conflict gets blown all out of proportion.” He shook his head gravely. “The one thing all these people never seem to understand is that war is a constant. It’s always been with us, and I’m afraid it always will be.”

  Tombstone nodded. “So what’s going to happen? There’s already a UN peacekeeping force in place. Not that they’ve been able to exercise much control over the Greek nationalist, I hear.”

  “It’s not that simple. Sometime tomorrow, the UN will pass a resolution calling for peace and a negotiated cease-fire in Macedonia. There’s thought in some quarters that the Greeks aren’t going to be any too happy about that. They may even back down from the few compromises they’ve been willing to live with up until now.”

  “But Greece is a member of the United Nations,” Tombstone said. “They’ve had members on every peacekeeping mission so far. They always support the UN.”

  “Sure, but it’s different when it’s applied to your own country. You know how touchy they are. They don’t like having a peacekeeping force in their own country one little bit. And Macedonia is going to be even less willing to cooperate with anything that might possibly infringe on their new independence.”

  “I can see how it’s going to be a problem,” Tombstone said thoughtfully. “But this doesn’t sound like a Navy problem. Macedonia is landlocked.”

  “For now. That’s apparently part of the problem. Greece is claiming that there’s a camp of rebel insurgent nationalists conducting guerilla operations along the Aegean coast inside Greece itself. So they’re thinking that they’ll need more of a naval presence than originally planned. Besides, nothing’s as flexible as an aircraft carrier — and it’s a good deal more diplomatic to have an airfield outside the twelve-mile limit than aircraft on the ground inside Greece.”

  “Makes sense,” Tombstone admitted. “So where do I come in?”

  “How would you like to be a special advisor to the commander of the UN peacekeeping force that’s ordered into Greece?” his uncle asked. “Think about it for a moment before you answer. For one thing, it would be composed primarily of ground troops, although Jefferson would be on scene off the coast providing air support, logistics, that sort of thing. And you’d have a whole host of resources to draw on from the Med. But the primary action would be on the ground. Frankly, I think that will make assigning a naval officer even more attractive to the Greeks. They’ll think you won’t understand the ground actions, that maybe they can baffle you with bullshit.”

  Tombstone nodded. “After my little forays into Vietnam and Russia, I understand more about that aspect of war. They might not expect that. On the other hand, I might miss some subtleties a ground-pounder would pick up. An army or marine officer might be a better choice.”

  “There’s one other factor involved. Remember who we’re talking about. This is Greece, the most ancient seagoing nation in the world. They were building combat fleets when our ancestors were still throwing sticks at each other. If there’s a conflict there, even with an inland country like Macedonia, naval warfare will play a big part. For one thing, there are islands scattered up and down throughout the Med and the Aegean. Perfect for remote supply bases and reinforcements. Any peacekeeping force in the area is going to have to do some island hopping just to keep things quiet.”

  Tombstone nodded. “But still, the primary thrust of the battle is going to be on land.”

  “Yes, it is. But like I said, this is a naval warfare country. Their land tactics are invariably influenced by their tactics at sea. You’ve seen that yourself at the Naval War College. It’s a way of thinking, an approach to operational art that’s different from our own. That’s why I thought you might be able to bring a unique perspective to the situation. You understand naval tactics and operational art better than any other officer I know. If anyone can outguess the Macedonians and puzzle out any hidden Greek agendas, it will be you.”

  “What makes you think the other nations would buy into it?” Tombstone asked. Already the possibility of going to Greece was starting to appeal to him.

  But not in command. You’d be one of those staff officers, those special advisors, that you’ve spent half your life bitching about.

  “That’s my end of the ball game, Stony. Trust me, I know how to handle the politics involved. But before I could go to bat for this — and I’m not doing it as a favor, mind you, I really think you’re the best man for the job — I have to know whether or not you want it. Because believe me, being on the inside when there’s ethnic warfare involved can eat at you. Brothers fighting brothers — it will be like the Civil War in the States was. Only uglier. And you’d have no real power to do anything other than report back to the States when something starts stinking to high heaven. The upside is that you can make a difference in the world. The UN’s got to work as it was intended, as a force for world peace, and Greece has got to go along with that.”

  “Oh, I want it, make no mistake about that,” Tombstone said. “Tomboy’s onboard Jefferson right now anyway, so it’s not like I have a home life.”

  His uncle stood. “Well, then.” He held out his hand. “Pack your bags, Nephew.”

  THREE

  Friday, 5 May

  USS Jefferson

  The Aegean Sea, off the coast of Greece

  0800 local (GMT –2)

  Airman Greg Smith stared out at the brilliant blue waters of the Aegean Sea. From his vantage point on the sponson, an open air compartment immediately below the flight deck, it seemed as though he were looking out from a cave. Clear sky merged with slightly darker water in an endless wash of blue from horizon to horizon.

  Airman Smith was attached to VF-95 and worked as a plane captain. As a member of the line department, he was responsible for the overall care and well-being of his Tomcat when it was on the deck. He washed it, checked it for corrosion, made sure it was chocked and chained even during good weather, because out here you never could tell when a storm would blow in. You leave a bird unwashed, forget for a few days to check the delicate junctures between metals, and the next thing you know, bimetallic corrosion has set in.

  Other plane captains might not be as meticulous about maintaining their birds, but there was no way Airman Smith was letting any pilot climb into his particular Tomcat if it wasn’t in perfect condition. After all, what if something happened to one of them? Something he could have prevented? He knew most of the pilots by sight now,
at least well enough to speak a few respectful words to them as they signed out his bird in the flight logbook. They seemed like good fellows, all right guys. Of course, they had to be, didn’t they? Not just anyone got to fly Tomcats.

  Right now, though, it wasn’t the condition of his aircraft that Airman Smith had on his mind. It was the upcoming mission, the one off the coast of Greece. He sighed, stared at the water, and wondered why the hell he was worrying about it. After all, he was just a lowly airman, Paygrade E-3. There were a lot of people a lot more senior that were getting paid to think about things like this, weren’t there? There had to be.

  His grandfather had been thinking about it. Smith touched his breast pocket and felt the outline of the letter he kept stashed as a talisman. Not that he was superstitious or anything. No, nothing like that.

  But Gramps — his father’s father — had been in the Navy, had been an enlisted pilot back during the Korean War. He’d flown lots of missions off carriers back before there were even steam catapults to blast them off the deck. Back then, as Gramps told it, they just started from the stern of the ship, gunned their engines, and prayed after they popped the brakes that they’d have enough airspeed to make it.

  And Dad had flown off carriers, too. But a soft cat shot off the Saratoga on a North Sea patrol had ended his navy career only two weeks after he’d reported on board. Smith had been six years old when the two black sedans had pulled up in front of their home in navy housing. But even at that age, he knew what a chaplain coming up the sidewalk meant.

  “He’s with Grandma,” Gramps had explained. “They’re watching out for us all the time.”

  “I don’t want him to be with Grandma!” Smith had howled. “I want him here!” Gramps had pulled him close, let him cry himself out, and that was how it had started. The twelve years of constant moves, living with Mom and Gramps, watching Mom fade away into a dull, drab woman working two, sometimes three jobs just to keep food on the table. Gramps had explained that, too, had gone to the parent-teacher conferences, watched him play Little League, told him stories about the Navy and his time in Korea fighting the war.